


A Fashion Icon (Like My Grandmother Before Me)

by l_cloudy



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Emperor Hux, M/M, hux has literally only owned military uniforms his entire adult life, kylo wants to introduce him to capes, snark ensues and also sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Master Ren is the best fashion designer this side of Naboo," she began. "His creations are priceless and highly sought after, his craftsmanship unparalleled and his influence over Core society inestimable. You <em>need</em> him.”</p><p>The Emperor needs new clothes. Kylo Ren is happy to assist. For a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, man, I don't even know what I am doing with my life.

There really wasn’t much difference between commanding a fleet and ruling a galactic empire, Hux had found.

Or, well – his Empire might not be _quite_ galactic as of yet, thanks to the pesky interference of the so-called Resistance; but he still ruled over half the known planetary systems with projected expansion plans to an even seventy percent of the galaxy by the time of his thirty-seventh birthday, just as planned. And, to his endless pleasure, he was handling it better than he could ever have expected.

Sure, being Emperor apparently entailed dealing a truly dismaying number of official documents and petty bureaucrats, but he had underlings for that sort of things. A couple of reasonably competent stewards in key positions, and all Hux had left to trouble himself with was giving orders, something he’d never had to struggle with.

Yes, he often thought, being Emperor was truly a delight… or it would have been, if not for the constant hassle of state functions, and all the bullshit that came with them.

As the son of exiles, and later a General in the First Order, Hux had spent almost his entire life on starships. Settlement was for civilians, in those first few years after the fall of the Empire, or for narrow-sighted officers at a dead end in their careers. His father had been one of such men, once upon a time – influential but cast aside, well-connected but of little actual power – until the day the Empire had fallen and its splendour with it, and all those scorned military men of the Outer Rim took their ships and their blasters and their orderly troopers and set about rebuilding the new world.

Thirty years later and he found himself Emperor of the Galaxy – or a sizeable portion of it, anyway. He’d taken up residence in the Core, as it was only suitable, and loathed every minute he had to waste dealing with the aristocratic slime that had been so quick to renounce their Empire and their values upon Palpatine’s death.

The upper crust of the Empire had fared better than the military had, with their riches and their claims to a nobility that preceded the fall of the Republic, guaranteed to land on their feet no matter what. They’d been – _sympathetic_ to the Order, of course, but never openly supportive, their promises vague and whispered, their financial support a trickle of what it could have been. Hux remembered the meeting with those would-be supporters, the bitter humiliation of being judged and dismissed, the burn of having to act polite and agreeable knowing they would snicker about him behind their painted fans as soon as his back was turned, this provincial young officer clad in last year’s trends.

Even after all he’d achieved, all he’d conquered, the memories filled him  with disgust. No, it was safe to say, the Emperor was not fond of his courtiers.

Unfortunately, some unpleasantries of life were to be endured – such as the upcoming celebration for his first year of rule, and the absolute nonsense of a _stylist_ that came with it.

It had been his mother who’d suggested it first, during their routinely-scheduled weekly conversation. His relationship with his parents had never been typical, though it always ran smooth – if his father had been a cross between a steadfast mentor and a caring commanding officer, his mother’s keen eye and dry wit had always been a constant source of amusement and information through the years.

And so, when she’d brought it up for the first time – _perhaps you ought to look more the part, darling, for all the Core elitists who think the clothes make the man_ – and she’d given him a name and a contact within two minutes of his saying he would consider it, Hux had decided to count himself lucky. In these matters, his mother was never wrong.

And then he’d had his assistant call this designer, _Kylo Ren_ , only to be passed through to _his_ assistant, because Master Ren could not be bothered. Master Ren, it turned out, had a seventeen-months waiting list, and his people had to haggle with the stupid fool to get the time reduced to three weeks. Didn’t the man know that Hux had destroyed planets for less? Not that he could actually afford to make any of this public; Ren was apparently the most famous stylist in the galaxy, and the social embarrassment of being snubbed by him in any way was not something Hux could get away with at this time.

In the end, it had taken eight days of tireless negotiations to get the man to the Imperial Residence. Master Ren, Hux’s assistant had been explained by Ren’s assistant, usually insisted his clients come to him in his exclusive study on Kuat, a fundamental step in the creative process. As a compromise, Hux’s people had to grant Ren an entire wing, including nine suits of apartments, a private section of the gardens and a ballroom.

Even before actually meeting Kylo Ren, Hux knew he wasn’t going to enjoy the experience. Two minutes after being in the same room as the man, he was feeling more murderous than he had since the time Snoke had used mind-control on him, which had resulted in Hux blowing up his former leader from two star systems away, and declaring himself Emperor.

Their first scheduled appointment was for 0900, a time of the day Hux had always despised – too early to be anything but morning yet too late to get anything else done after; somehow it didn’t surprise him that _Master Ren_ would sleep in late. All the rooms Ren had commandeered had been swept thoroughly by his security earlier, so Hux left his guards at the suite door and entered only accompanied by his assistant, Savika, whom he figured was too well-paid to dare spread the word of his upcoming humiliation.

Kylo Ren looked every bit as frustrating as Hux had expected he would be. When he came in, the man was busy frowning and mumbling at the sketchbook in his hands as he paced up and down the spacious sitting room, his long coat… mantle? cape? blowing dramatically as he went.

 _How unexpected_ , Hux thought.

Ren stiffened as he entered the room, and turned to look him up and down with a critical gleam in his eyes that left Hux feeling quite unnerved. He didn’t kneel _or_ bow; merely lowered his head an imperceptible fraction, full lips tightening into a mockery of a smile.

“Emperor,” he offered.

“The customary address is ‘Your Highness’,” Savika offered, efficient as always, coming out from behind Hux to circle around Ren. “After that, you may use ‘sire’ if you like.”

“Charming,” Ren said, sounding anything but.

He crossed his arms over his chest, studying him, and Hux took the chance to do the same. The man was wearing a golden-yellow sort of… mantle that went all the way to his calf, with a complicated red motif on in. The mantle wasn’t buttoned and it opened in the front at the waist to show tight black trousers under it, but it was cut in such a way to make it hard to see what kind of garment Ren had under it. Still, Hux was almost certain the man was wearing a fishnet shirt – black as well – and while the ensemble was nowhere as outlandish as some of Ren’s more popular creations, it didn’t exactly bode well.

He was broken out of his reverie by Ren’s decidedly loud sigh.

“Well,” the stylist said, looking resigned. “I can certainly see we’ll have a lot of work to do.”

_Of all the irreverent, idiotic…_

“Excuse me?” Hux asked, all practiced courtesy and barely-suppressed murderous instinct.

“Well, sire,” Ren said. Snarled, really. “You’re quite drab, aren’t you?”

Ren had interesting features, with large eyes, a large nose and a long face. Hux tried to imagine how much better the man would look after his knuckles hit his chin.

“I suppose your hair would be an asset,” Ren continued. “But whatever is that you put on it, it darkens it. It is also not working.” Hux had to fight the impulse to bring one hand to his head, suddenly incredibly self-conscious. “Add that to your colouring, and the way you present yourself… very dull. And _small_.”

Hux did not march in Savika’s direction and physically drag her out of the room, but it was a close thing. Instead he met the eyes of his assistant – saw her holding her breath as she stared at Ren in unmitigated horror – and gestured towards the door.

Ren noticed the exchange, of course. He kept talking. “Not like your marvellous assistant over here, of course. Much better colouring – earthly tones are always the best. And such perfect proportions!”

He was still talking when Hux slammed the door.

He found himself in the corridor breathing out slowly through his nostrils, utterly making a spectacle of himself in front of his very startled assistant and his entire security detail. He didn’t care – as long as none of this got back to Phasma, anyway.

“I want,” he said. “That _imbecile_. Out of my palace.”

“Sire,” Savika said. “With all respect.”

Hux stared at her, feeling his rage at that arrogant blabbering fool on the other side of the door and warning her with a look to be Very Careful.

Savika took a long breath. “Master Ren is the best fashion designer this side of Naboo,” she began, sounding like she was reading out Kylo Ren’s biography on his holonet page. Knowing her, she might have it memorized.

“His creations are priceless and highly sought after, his craftsmanship unparalleled and his influence over Core society inestimable. The mere rumour of his taking you on as his client would gain you more advantages than an entire month of diplomatic meetings. You _need_ him.”

That made more sense than Hux wanted to admit to himself. Still, Savika went on. “Yes, his character’s not the best, but –”

He let out a bark of laughter at that. Savika frowned, and Hux was pretty sure he saw one of the Stormtroopers wince. “ _His character is not the best_ ,” Hux repeated. Understatement of the year. “Tell me, why hasn’t anyone murdered him yet?”

“Because…” Savika started to answer, then stopped. She blinked and cleared her throat. “It actually makes sense that someone would try, wouldn’t it, sire?” she sounded genuinely puzzled. “Do you want me to look into that?”

 _What the hell_ , Hux thought. “If you have the time.”

When he went back inside, Ren was waiting for him with a smug, smug smirk.

“Everything sorted out there, sire?” he asked.

Hux forced himself to smile at him. “Perfectly,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

++

The day didn’t get any better after that.

Ren made him undress and stand upon a raised dais, studying him with narrowed eyes and a critical look on his face. Hux had never had any qualms about being in a state of undress in front of strangers – the Academy had taken care of that early on – and he was confident in his body and his bearing, well aware that he could look as imposing in his underwear as he did in his state regalia.

He hadn’t been prepared for the way Ren circled around him slowly, observing him from all sides and frowning like he’d found him lacking. He took in every inch of Hux with a look that wasn’t sexual in the least, but wasn’t detached either; and Hux was suddenly aware of his own slim waist and thin shoulders.

“I can see why you wear all that padding,” Ren said. “But it’s dreadfully unfashionable. There will be none of that from now on.”

Hux closed his eyes, prayed to all the gods he’d never believed in.

“And what, pray tell,” he asked. “Would you have me wear?”

Ren smiled. It was rather predatory. “That depends on you, sire.” The man pronounced his title like he was indulging him. “As I suppose you have had a look at my creations before going through all the troubles of hiring me…” Hux hadn’t. He’d just heard the name of Kylo Ren spoken in reverent whispers; knew that the man had influence and popularity and was the best there was. “You may tell me what you prefer,” Ren concluded.

Hux had no idea what the man’s repertoire actually looked like, and he was sure Ren knew that. He’d only truly took notice of a handful of truly flamboyant creations he couldn’t have missed at some party or the other, but that was the extent of his knowledge of the matter, and he was sure Ren was just trying to humiliate him by confronting him with his lack of knowledge.

He spun around on the dais to give the man a very flat look. “Something not too different from my usual style,” he said with all the dignity he could muster. Ren’s upper lip went up in a haughty snarl.

“I truly doubt you’ll find any of my work similar to that of whatever country bumpkin is dressing you right now,” he drawled. “ _Sire_. And, in the future, you will want to refrain for moving around while you’re up there. A good part of the working process involves pins.”

Hux almost asked Ren why he’d made him undress now, when the _working process_ seemed to consist only of the stylist pontificating at him, but he was pretty sure the answer would make him want to strangle him. Savika had a point, he decided. It was impossible he was the first man to consider killing Kylo Ren, so why had nobody else followed suit?

“I suppose,” Ren said, eventually. “This mean you’d prefer to wear trousers.”

“What are you – yes, of course I’d _prefer to wear trousers_ , Ren,” he spluttered. Ren shrugged.

“I do personally prefer them myself – more practical – but there is a growing number preferring skirts, as springwear. We do have a new collection coming out in five weeks –”

“No,” Hux said, firmly. “No skirts.”

Ren nodded. “No skirts,” he agreed. “You haven’t got the legs for it, anyway. Too bony.”

“Tell me, Ren,” he started. “Do you realize every third word coming out of your mouth could have you indicted for  lèse-majesté?”

That got him a smile. A full smile, nothing as dry and sardonic as what he’d seen so far. In that split second, Kylo Ren looked beautiful.

Then, of course, he ruined. “I don’t recognize your authority,” Hux was informed candidly. “I’m from the Republic.”

Of course someone like Ren would be from the Republic. “We are at war with the Republic,” he told Ren.

“Believe it or not, sire, I am well aware of that.”

That should have been the end of it; but, for some reason, Hux found himself talking again. “Are you sure you aren’t a Republic agent?” he asked Ren. Of course the man wasn’t; he was too high-profile, too notoriously apolitical, too damn self-centred. He had no idea why he was even entertaining semi-playful conversation with Kylo Ren of all people. But still, he went on. “Sent to kill me slowly by means of frustration.”

At that, Ren smiled again, and for longer this time. His smile was slightly crocked and sort of odd, but it lighted up his whole face – and why were Ren’s eyes suddenly glistening with amusement?

“Trust me,” Ren said. “If I’d been sent to kill you, you’d never see it coming.” And then. “What about the upper body wear? Do you even own any shirts that aren’t button-ups thirty years out of style? And I absolutely refuse to add in any padding, it is hell on the shoulder lines. Rather, I suggest you hit the gym.”

It took Hux a surprising amount of willpower to refrain from snappily tell Ren that it had nothing to do with exercising, that was simply the way his body was shaped. He bit his mouth before he could make a utter ass of himself, wondering just what it was about Ren that made him so oddly defensive.

“I’ll defer to your expert opinion on that,” he conceded, with the same tone of voice one might use to say, _Fuck you_. Ren didn’t seem to notice.

“Low neck,” he was muttering under his breath. “Tightly tailored, of course. Or vests. Open coat, nothing as stiff as that horror you usually wear, but a raised collar might help make you look a bit less scrawny.”

“Very impressive,” Hux cut in, because he’d been waiting nearly naked on that bloody dais for close to half an  hour now, and he was starting to get bored – and stiff and cold, though he wouldn’t ever admit that to Ren. “But are you ever going with whatever it is that requires me to stand in my pants on a raised platform, because I may be unfamiliar with the tailoring process, but I don’t see the point of any of this.”

“As you _are_ unfamiliar with the tailoring process, sire, I don’t see the value in your opinion. Stay still. I need to look at you.”

It was a good five minutes before Ren spoke again. “How often do you cut your hair?”

“Huh?”

“Your hair,” Ren repeated, as if he were talking to a child. “Stop cutting it so often, the severity doesn’t flatter your features in the least.” Ren’s own hair, loose and wavy, was long enough to reach almost halfway through his neck, and it was first thing Hux had noticed about him. “And stop…” he made a sort of gesture all around his head. “Putting whatever is that you put it in. It’s unfashionable, and in Coruscant it looks about as suitable as a Hutt in a dancing hall. I’ll get you a hair stylist to come by tomorrow –”

“I am busy tomorrow,” Hux cut in. Ren ignored him.

“And have you considered growing a beard? You are naturally very pale, and the way you snarl makes your lips look –”

“Ren!”

“And for Sith’s sake, _lose the boots_.”

Mercifully, there was a knock at the door.

“Sire?” Savika’s voice called. “I’d like to remind you, you are expected for a late breakfast with the Berani ambassador in thirty minutes.”

“Yes,” Hux said, perhaps with too much relief. “Thank you.”

And then, to Ren. “Are we quite done?”

“I’ll take your measurements,” Ren said, once again prompting the thought of why the hell hadn’t he done that from the start. “Then you can go. And I will see you in three days.”

“Yes,” Hux agreed. “I can hardly wait.”

++

The clothing Ren presented him with weren’t much different from what Hux usually wore, he decided. For all of the man’s airs and his drama, he’d been expecting something bizarre and otherworldly, something that would leave him breathless – admittedly, more in dismay than in admiration.

Instead, he found everything disappointingly normal. There were three outfits laid out for his perusal, clothes spread out on a low table – trousers and shits and vests. One of them went with a jacket. The colours were bolder than he usually wore, and there was nice embroidery that he could see, but he didn’t think any of it could justify the fuss he’d been submitted to.

Ren’s own outfit for the day was much different – black tight trousers and tunic that was opened up almost to mid-chest, knee-high leather boots with the same motif as the overly large belt he wore high on his waist and a short, large stark white jacket with long sleeves, larger at the bottom and gathered into cuffs. He was wearing make-up, light touches of some sort of golden powder on his face that made the skin almost shimmer and two red dots draw right under his lower lids, contoured with kohl. 

And he was looking at Hux with an all-too familiar predatory smirk.

“Not as impressive as you expected, Your Highness?” Where any other decent artisan would be reddening in embarrassment and stammering apologies for daring to waste their sovereign’s precious time, Ren’s eyes shimmered in self-satisfaction. “I told your people you wouldn’t be able to appreciate my work this way, but your assistant said you _insisted_. No live models.”

The very evening after his first meeting with Ren, Hux had been flabbergasted to receive a communication from his security detail. Apparently, they’d been asked to screen three of the people in Ren’s entourage, so that they may be let unattended inside the rooms at their next meeting. He had then asked, rather reasonably, why in the five frozen hells the famed and supposedly all-talented Kylo Ren would need _three_ helpers for a routine fitting. Certainly, he deserved to know if he’d hired a fraud. It did not have anything to do with his wanting as few people as possible to witness the way Ren got away with routinely insulting him.

The answer, reported to him by a stone-faced Phasma, had been that Ren had brought along several models, all of them sharing Hux’s age, colouring and body type, so that the Emperor may admire how his new clothes would fit him from all angles.    

“I can’t believe we paid for this – this _man_ to fly in models all the way from Kuat,” Hux had complained to Savika, loudly. Phasma remained where she stood, completely serious – her lips didn’t even twitch. He resolved to give her a raise.

“Oh, he didn’t fly them from Kuat, sire,” Savika was quick to explain. “Those are regularly employed runway models on the fashion circuit. I asked Ren’s assistant why he would, uh, employ people who look like you, and I’ve been explained that they were especially recruited for this occasion, from all over the galaxy.” She had the good grace to look unimpressed. “We’re given to understand this is a great honor, reserved only for his most prestigious clients.”

She’d added in the last bit in a tone that made it sound as though Ren had been some high-end whore, Hux thought – then promptly wondered where that had come from.

“Does he,” he said. “And I assume we paid for that as well?” He waved off his assistant before she could further run his mood. “No, don’t answer that. What is wrong with mannequin droids? Or bloody _hangers_?”

He hadn’t considered _aesthetic concerns_ to be a valid excuse for Ren’s latest whim – and so here they were, two days later, Ren smiling down at him as if he’d just proven his point.

“From where I’m standing,” Hux told him. “It’s not the lack of live modelling that makes your work not impressive. Merely the fact that I don’t see a lick of difference from how I usually dress.”

Ren rolled his eyes, all very dramatically. Everything Ren did seemed to be calculated to be as dramatic as possible. “ _Please_ ,” he said, inflicting that single word with more disdain than Hux would have believed to be possible. “Not this again. As if you could even compare my work to that of the third-rate provincial moron who’s been refitting whatever clothes your assistant buys for you – I’m guessing off the rack at some expensive department store, as if that would make it any less crass – and following what must be severely out-of-date measurements. Do correct me if I’m wrong about any of that.”

Hux decided to neither confirm nor deny Ren’s guess. “I also am what your ilk would call a provincial moron, Ren, if I weren’t ruling over the bunch of them. Do mind your words.”

Ren did not. “I am sorry I hurt your delicate feelings,” he said. And then. “I’m Corellian.”

That was as close to a peace offering as he would get. “You don’t look it,” he said, not unkindly.

“Well,” Ren retorted. “You certainly don’t look like an Emperor, wearing _that_.”

In the end, Ren had him undress again, no dais this time, only a mere stool – and Hux had never been self-conscious, so why was he suddenly feeling this nervous under Ren’s intense gaze? – and handed him the outfit he pointed to, to try on for himself. There were no mirrors in the room that he could see, but Ren promptly shut him up when he pointed that out, and promptly started schooling Hux on the proper way to handle his creations. As if he hadn’t learned to dress himself over thirty years ago.

“That is _Vanthra silk_ ,” Ren scolded him. At some point, he’d dropped even the last pretence of addressing Hux properly. “It’s a tactile experience, you heathen, it’s made to be revered, not manhandled.”

Hux glared at him, but didn’t put much effort into it. It was, he had to admit, a very high-quality cloth, soft and incredibly smooth under his fingers, and at the same time it felt more resistant that he had ever expected silk to be. The cut of the clothes was also very obviously excellent, the dressmaker’s ability evident even to Hux’s inexperienced eyes.

Not that he would admit that where Ren could hear. Or at all.

“Would you unbutton the damn thing.” Ren’s voice took on a reprimanding note as Hux tried to slip on the shirt after unbuttoning the first three buttons. He didn’t see the point of it – if it was large enough for his head and his shoulders to fit in through the neck, why unbutton the whole thing?

Ren had other ideas.

“I can’t believe you rule over a third of the known galaxy and don’t know how to put on a shirt,” he said. “Do you have any idea how much that cloth costs?”

Hux grimaced as he smoothed the shirt on his chest, feeling the softness of material under the pad of his fingers. It felt like brushing water, or light.

“I assume I’ll find out very soon,” he said, closing it up. The shirt was a deep crimson, and its neck dipped down lower than anything he could remember wearing. Hux could feel the air of the room on his collarbones. “And what do you mean, a third of the galaxy, Ren? The Empire extends to sixty-two percent of the known planetary systems. Are you truly as ignorant as you look?”

Ren passed him the trousers. “I assume you know how this is done,” he said. “But in case you aren’t aware, you put them on a leg at the time.”

Hux took them without commenting, least he encourage him any further. The trousers were a dark navy colour, almost black, and when he put them on he noticed they went higher on waist was higher than he was used to – and quite tight as well, especially around his hips and ass. He looked down at his feet, frowning.

“They’re too short,” he said.

“No, they’re not,” Ren replied. “You are getting rid of those heavy boots before my eyes start to bleed – you stomp around in a palace, _sire_ , not a battlefield.” It figured the only time Ren would deign to use his title he’d be mocking him. “You’re going to wear those untucked, and the hem is the perfect length. Unless you’re still hoping you’ll grow up some more, at your age?”

Next on was the coat, black and heavy – more so than the jackets he usually wore and about the same weight as the greatcoat he’d worn as a general, although considerably longer and less rigid, more snug around the shoulders and the upper arms. The lining felt as smooth and sinfully expensive as the rest of his new clothes, but the exterior was made of heavy wool. There was a ring of embroidery running around each of the long sleeves, a few inches above the hem, about two inches wide and made of silvery thread, beautifully intricate. Hux passed his fingers above the pattern, feeling every single thread under the pads of his digits. It truly was an excellent work; he couldn’t believe he’d taken Ren only three days to make all of this.

Said man was currently standing a couple steps behind him, looking smugger than ever, and Hux was quick to plaster a scowl on his face.

“Isn’t this a little too heavy?” he asked. “I feel like I’d suffocate if I put it on.”

Ren’s knowing smile said he hadn’t been fooled. “It may come as a surprise to you,” he said. “But a coat is actually outer wear. The beauty of  it is that you can indeed take it off when it gets too warm.” Hux inhaled slowly through his nostrils and forced himself to remain calm, holding Ren’s gaze without looking away.

“And I’ve had help,” Ren added.

“What?”

“Making these,” Ren said. “I do have people working for me, you know. Plenty. They mostly do the sewing, I shout orders and look pretty.”

The situation felt incredibly surreal all of a sudden. Was Ren actually being _nice_?

“Right.” Hux swallowed, and put the coat on. As he’d suspected, it felt snug around him but not oppressive, hemline falling right under his knees and sleeves barely an inch above his hands. His fingers immediately went to the buttons.

“Wait,” Ren said. “You wear that open, otherwise you’ll just look drab all in dark like you usually do. You wouldn’t believe how much all the pallor ages you.”

“Ren,” Hux asked. “How do you even have any clients? You’re an insufferable asshole.”

“And you should fix that collar, it looks awful.”

Hux’s hands went to his neck. “If I had a _mirror_ –”

“That’s nothing to do with mirrors,” Ren cut in. “Can’t you feel the collar’s all rumpled? Or well, I supposed you wouldn’t notice, considering your usual attire. But that is supposed to be raised, and left open wide…” and, before Hux had time to do anything, Ren had moved over to him and was busy untucking his collar from where it had twisted into a crumpled mess around Hux’s neck, fussing and smoothing until he was satisfied with the result.

“There you go,” Ren said. Hux noticed, suddenly, that his eyes were on a level with Ren’s lips, rosy and pouty and undoubtedly smooth, and his shoulders were very wide. And that Ren’s ears were pierced, a thin silvery chain going from the top of his left ear to the lobe; and Ren’s cologne smelled just as good as one could possibly expect from someone who worked in fashion. Hux took in a deep breath.

“All done,” Ren said, stepping back. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” And then, before Hux had time to reply, or even think about what strange phenomenon was currently happening to his brain – could he possibly be getting sick? – Ren snapped his fingers with a resolute look on his face.

“Right,” he said. “Shoes first. Then mirror.”

“So you do have a mirror, somewhere,” Hux pointed out. “And here I thought I was just going to have to take your word that I look good.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Ren said, and had his voice always been so – so _sultry_? “But you _do_ look good.”

Only the many, many years of practice keeping a blank face reporting to the creature he wanted to murder allowed Hux not to shiver at those words – and even then, it was damn close.

He blinked, his mind a trembling mess. Was Ren coming on to him? They’d spent the entirety of their acquaintance, short as it was, arguing the whole time. But that certainly wasn’t stopping Hux’s own stupid self from finding Ren attractive, so why couldn’t it go both ways? Then again, it was Ren; Hux had perhaps never met anyone as self-observed as the man standing in front of him. He’d probably meant that _his clothes_ made Hux look good – yes, that must have been it. He’d been complimenting himself.

Ren, meanwhile, had the gall to keep staring at him with a crocked eyebrow and a half smile on his lips. Good to know someone was having fun.

 “Now, you should put one of these on,” Ren said, pointing to the display table. There were three pair of shoes arranged next to the remaining clothes – a pair of black ankle boots, much lighter and smaller than the military-inspired model Hux often wore; and two pairs of elegant dress shoes, one polished black and the other a brown so rich it shined mahogany under the morning light streaming in from the suite’s big windows.

“They’re all store-bought, I’m afraid,” Ren continued, mouth turning as if he’d tasted something foul. “But the size should fit you. I brought along a shoemaker, of course, but considering you still haven’t made time to see my hair stylist – ”

“I didn’t have time to meet with your hair stylist, Ren, I’ve got an Empire to run –”

“Are you going to put a pair of shoes on, or shall I do that for you?”

Hux’s mouth snapped shut and he was transfixed by the mental image of Kylo Ren putting Hux’s shoes on – he would have to kneel down for that, wouldn’t he? That long back arched, bright wide eyes looking up at Hux from under that nest of curls, soft-looking mouth twisting around some cruel jab or the other.

“I can do that myself, thank you,” he snapped at Ren. “Go fetch that mirror from wherever you hid it, I don’t have all morning.”

Ren laughed, a deep, rich laugh that made something inside him tremble a bit. “As you command,” he said and, _Oh_ , stars, he must be doing that on purpose, the dirty fucker.

Hux’s first instinct was to put on the ankle boots – familiar, comfortable-looking, utilitarian enough that he wouldn’t feel like a complete fop wearing them. But Ren would certainly make a comment about it, something harsh and utterly disrespectful, and Hux decided not to give him the chance. He put on the black dress shoes instead, and they fit perfectly, store-bought or not.

Ren came back from whatever side room he’d disappeared in with a full-length mirror on a large wheeled platform, a huge, obnoxious thing with a golden plated frame, covered with an azure cloth that looked fancier than the curtains in Hux’s personal bedroom.

He thought it was a bit excessive. Then he saw Ren bring his hands to each of the mirror’s side and stretch – and it wasn’t _a_ mirror, but rather six of them, slid one behind the other and joined at the sides with hinges for manoeuvrability. It was so over the top, Hux thought as he watched Ren take out each mirror and wheel them around to create a perfect hexagon. It was so over the top and yet it made perfect sense that Kylo Ren would have his own portable dressing room with the mirror frames plated in gold. And he’d had it flown it over from Kuat, on Crown money.

“How sober of you.”

Ren shook his head slowly, mustering a suitably sad expression. “You really have no taste.” Then he walked out from the only opening, pushing the mirrors closer together on their wheels as they went, leaving only a thin crack and Hux inside it, his own image reflected around him to infinity.

“Oh,” Hux said.

He knew, objectively, that he was a good-looking man. He had other qualities he valued more, but he’d long ago learned that most people found him aesthetically pleasing, and used that accordingly. As resourceful as he was, it was in doubt he’d have risen as quickly as he had, had he not learned to use his looks for his own means at a young age.

Hux knew he was handsome, but he’d never seen him looking quite so put together – not even in his uniform, his polished look altogether too artificial compared to the easy charm of the figure in the mirror. He looked – sharp, he supposed; the clean, elegant line of the clothing, the way the rich colours made him stand out, variety and taste at the same time. He looked imposing and he looked effortless and he looked attractive; he looked like he could fit anywhere.

He looked _regal_.

 _Well_ , he thought, and then he caught sight of Ren through the crack between the mirrors, watching him watch himself.

“You like?” Ren rumbled – and he was gloating, the bastard, amused and smug and annoyingly arrogant as always.

Hux felt himself go red in the face – he _saw_ himself going red in the face, from all angles, thanks to the stupid bloody mirrors. “Will you _stop_ staring at me?”

Ren met his reflection’s eyes. “I don’t see why.”

“ _Ren_.”

“ _Hux_.”

Now he was being mocking. “That’s _Your Highness_ to you,” Hux reminded him. Not that he held much hope that Ren would show any manners, not anymore.

Predictably, Ren laughed. “Do I look like someone who cares for authority?” Hux kept looking at him in the mirror, taking notice of the small creases around his eyes when he smiled, the way they captured the light like dark pools.

“You really don’t,” he heard himself saying, and he almost sounded fond.

This wasn’t good.

“Right,” Ren said. “Now turn around, please.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” Ren repeated, stepping inside the hexagon of mirrors – and now he could see all of Ren’s angles too, so oddly imposing and endlessly fascinating.

“This would’ve been much quicker if you’d let my models into the room, you realize, but we will have to do,” Ren was mumbling. “How do you think you look from behind? ”

Hux decided to take the question as purely analytical and not at all as the bad one-liner it could’ve been misinterpreted as. He looked over his shoulder, taking note of the way the coat fell on his ass and tights.

“Fine.”

“Fine, he says. What a shocking lack of critical spirit. Get on the stool, please.”

He got on the stool, waiting patiently as Ren circled him with his tongue between his teeth, muttering to himself. He made Hux roll his shoulders and raise his arms above his head, then told him to hold it as he looked him over once again.

“Too tight on the shoulders,” Ren decided. “Could be tighter on the chest. Get down and sit on the stool, it should be the right height. How does it feel?”

“Fine,” Hux said.

“You’re absolutely useless.”

He then made him take off the coat, taking it off Hux’s hands with exaggerated carefulness, then made him repeat the same motions, even though both the shirt and the trousers fit perfectly.

Ren made him unbutton his shirtsleeves and roll them up, which he insisted looked better – in fact there was a button hanging from a thin string just under his elbow, which went into a tiny buttonhole hidden in the cuff, so that he could roll up the sleeve have it stay that way. Kylo Ren, Hux found out, was ridiculously fastidious when it came to shirtsleeves; he kept complaining Hux was being too messy and wrinkling the cloth.

At one point he snapped and took Hux’s left arm in his hands – rather large hands, he noticed, watching them rigorously roll up the cuff and smooth the fabric until it looked like it’d been pressed. Once, twice, three times. Ren’s warm palms pressed against Hux’s naked forearm, and he tried his damnest not to react.

“Done,” Ren told him. “I only hope you can learn to dress that by yourself at some point. Or do you have people for that? Because in that case they’re doing a shitty job, and I can recommend someone else.”

“You can always tuck that shirt in, you realize,” Ren said next. “In fact, you should if you’re not planning on wearing the coat, or taking it off. It’d look better that way. And if you are going to wear something over it, just untuck the front of the shirt but leave the back in. Trust me.”

Hux blinked, trying to decide if Ren had just made a comment about his ass. He might have wondered longer, had the man not immediately cleared it up all by himself.

“Bend over,” Ren said.

Hux turned to look at him, back straight and face perfectly blank. “Excuse me?”

“Bend over,” Ren repeated, matter-of-factly. “Or crouch, walk around a bit, see if any of that comes hard to you. Those trousers are pretty tight.”

“I don’t really plan on doing much bending over in the near future, Master Ren,” Hux told him, as evenly as he could. Ren’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “And you are breaking about three Imperial laws right now.”

“That didn’t come out right,” Ren conceded – and was that a hint of disappointment Hux felt? He forced all emotions away from his face, tried to relax the line of his shoulders. “Not that I much care for Imperial laws,” Ren went on, conversationally, as if he weren’t speaking to the embodiment of said Imperial laws as if they were good acquaintances and not a sovereign and his insolent subject. “But I swear, Your Highness. It’s all in your head.”

Did Ren meant for that last statement to sound as ominous as it did? Ren himself looked somewhat amused by the entire conversation, and Hux hated feeling like he wasn’t on the joke.

“We are almost done for today, you know,” Ren said. “The rest of the clothes are a similar cut; they should all fit like these did. You’ll only have to try them up to see if you like the model and the colours – which we could have already done if that tall shiny captain had let me bring in the boys from Stellar Modelling...”

 _Stellar Modelling_. Hux almost shivered at the thought, and resolved to give Phasma an even larger raise.

“I’m assuming you like these?”

“Yes,” Hux said, perhaps too earnestly. He cleared his throat. “Very surprisingly.”

“That is the colour schemes we’re going with, for a start,” Ren told him, as if Hux had more of a vague idea of what a colour scheme even was. “Three colours, solid, rich hues. A few different shades. Blue, red, green. Also white – bright white, not that off-white horror of a shirt you had on last time – and some black, either shirts or outer wear. No black trousers, no grey, open collar.”

It didn’t sound so bad, Hux decided. Much more reasonable than he’d expected, given Ren’s reputation.

“Naturally, this is the everyday wear for the season – we should have it done in a few weeks. Then we’ll start on the occasion wear for important meetings and dinners, ceremonial robes first of course, and then casual wear for last.”

Ren paused, frowning, then spoke up again. “Sorry. Casual wear for second to last. Sleepwear after.”

“Hang on,” Hux told him. “What?” He’d thought Ren had been making him ceremonial clothes to begin with – wasn’t that why he’d hired him in the first place? – And _robes_. His mind immediately went to one peach-coloured monstrosity he’d seen the Nubian ambassador wear, with carmine-red flowers embroidered all over it, like the many gaping wounds that had opened in Hux’s very soul from the awful sight.

“Sleepwear?” he asked Ren. “Whatever for?” It wasn’t as if the courtiers of Coruscant would ever see him in his bedroom, at least outside of his nightmares. “And what even is casual wear?”

“Well,” Ren began, as if he were talking to a child. “You must take time off, relax – I hope, for your mental health. Exercise, or read in the gardens with your holopad, or just lay on the carpet crying for one hour a day, that is what casual wear is for. Also, I was commissioned a full wardrobe, which does include sleepwear.”

Hux  was about to cut into Ren’s ravings and explain that yes, he did exercise but certainly wasn’t going to require Kylo Ren’s fancy tailored clothes to sweat in, but Ren went on before he could. “And before you ask, this does _not_ include undergarments. We have a contract with Idyllic Intimates here on Coruscant, and they do provide our clients with high-quality underwear as part of the package – though I’m suspecting in your case they’ll do it for free. Publicity, you know.”

Ren looked too straight-faced to be anything but thoroughly amused under that unbearably calm façade.

“You’re insufferable,” he told Ren.

“Did you do something to your hair?” Ren asked.

His right hand went to his head before he could stop it. “What?”

“Your hair,” Ren repeated. “Your assistant was extremely rude to my hair stylist when he tried to get an appointment with you, so that can’t be it, but it looks much better than it did the other day.”

“I didn’t do anything to it,” Hux said, suddenly self-conscious. In fact, he’d refrained from putting any pomade in it that morning, all-too-mindful of Ren’s barbs, and it had to admit that it did in fact look a more vibrant red than it did most days.

But he wasn’t about to tell Ren that.

Ren took a step closer, almost crowding him – and enclosed as they were in the circle of mirrors, there wasn’t way for Hux to avoid the sight. Everywhere it was Ren, Ren, Ren, with his stupid smirk and stupid hair and truly despicable personality.

And excellent cologne, Hux was forced to admit to himself. _Fuck_.

“Well, whatever it is,” Ren said, almost lazily. “You should keep doing it. It looks good.”

Hux swallowed. “Right. I will keep that under consideration.”

“You do that,” Ren agreed. He was even closer now, merely inches away, looming with the coiled grace of a predator. “Tell me,” he continued, dragging the words out one by one. “Do you have any flying personnel  in stand-by here at the Residence?”

Hux frowned, trying to figure out what the hell that was about. “Of course I do.” What kind of question was that? “There are always pilots in stand-by, for sudden flights.

“Great,” Ren smiled. He stepped back. “Then I’m going to need one to do a supply run.”

“What?”

“A supply run,” Ren shrugged. “It is in my contract, page five – I and my entourage are entitled to the usage of Residence resources during our stay, and we require a short hyperspace flight. When I inquired your assistant said that no pilots were available, but it’s good to see it must have been a mix-up.”

“Yes, that should be doable,” Hux agreed, not believing for a moment Savika would have ‘mixed up’ anything. “What do you need a ship for?”

Ren shrugged. “A last term purchase, I am afraid. You see, for my health is essential I only drink Lacian spring water, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to acquire on this planet.”

“So you need a hyperspace flight,” he repeated Ren’s words. “To Lacia. To get drinking water?”

That got him a nod. “I guess I’m lucky I got such a well-connected client,” Ren said. “And such an exhaustive contract.”

Hux almost couldn’t believe he’d seriously been considering kissing this man less than five minutes ago. _What an absolute fucker_.

That night, he most definitely did _not_ dream of Kylo Ren.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being Bad and not updating earlier. Y'all don't want to know what my excuse is *averts eyes in shame*  
> Next updates will be in a more timely fashion.

“And how was your appointment with Master Ren yesterday, sire?” Savika asked halfway through his lunch break.

“Better than I’d expected,” Hux said. He forcibly shoved a forkful of stew down his mouth. “He’s capricious, rude and I think he may be flirting with me, but once you get past all of that he actually does some good work.”

“Well, that’s progress,” she agreed, encouragingly. “I’ve put a bounty on him.”

He swallowed down another bit. “You’ve put a bounty on Ren?” Hux blinked. “That is actually brilliant. How much did you make it?”

“Thank you, sire,” She smiled. “And I made it forty thousand, but apparently it’s too low. No one would take the job – I think we might have something there.”

That was interesting. Forty thousand credits was by no means a fortune, but it was certainly a decent amount to ask for an idle Core ponce with no security to speak of. “Why wouldn’t they take it?”

Savika leaned in closer from where she was eating on the other side of his office desk, eyes gleaming in anticipation. “You’ll like this,” she said. “Apparently, eight years ago someone put a bounty on Ren, when he was just starting out. Apparently he seduced one of the children of a family he was working for, and the client took offence to that – there was some drama with a marriage contract, purity clauses…” her mouth twisted. “You know how backwards these old Core families are. So the client decided to have Ren killed, before they had to pay him, preferably, and hired a bounty hunter. Who disappeared.”

“Interesting,” Hux agreed, filing the information to muddle over later. “But hardly damning. Unless there’s more?” There probably was – Savika had a bit of a dramatic streak. Nowhere as bad as Ren’s, of course, not that anyone could possibly as dramatic as that horrible man, but still nothing to sneer at. In fact, his assistant reminded Hux a bit of Phasma at her most mischievous, off-duty and after a few drinks.

There and then, he took mental notice to never, ever let Savika and Phasma in the same room without his direct supervision. With his luck, they’d probably start dating. And on that line… did Ren make a habit of sleeping with the people he worked for? Was that how he’d got so influential?

He was brought back to reality by a delicate cough.

“Sire?” Savika asked.

“Could you repeat that?” Distracted by thoughts of Kylo Ren. How humiliating. The entire situation was starting to become a problem.

“I said, that wasn’t the only bounty hunter who went after Ren. On the paper, he’s easy prey. There were at least four that I learned of, but a few others disappeared over the same period. A couple reappeared, later…” she flicked her heavy dark hair away from her face. “I was told it was very gruesome.”

“How gruesome?”

Savika shrugged, completely unfazed. “Hacked to pieces, apparently. Some sources say hot irons. Some others said hacked to pieces _with_ a hot iron, though I’m not sure that’s physically possible. But no one would go after Ren for at least sixty thousand, and I’ve been asked to pay half of that upfront.”

Hux slumped back against his chair. “Well, this _is_ interesting.”

“I thought so, sire,” she agreed. “Should I keep looking into that?”

He frowned. There wasn’t much to look into, not really – just a rhetorical question carried to the extreme by his ever-resourceful, over-zealous assistant, but there wasn’t anything else there, short of asking directly to Kylo Ren if he’d ever hacked somebody to pieces with a hot iron.

“Was there an official investigation?” Nine years ago, the Core had been under New Republic control, and while Hux held little faith in the ability of those useless bureaucrats to get anything done, someone somewhere must have deemed dismembered bodies an issue worth looking into. He hoped.

He didn’t get an answer; Savika was staring at a spot somewhere above his shoulder, looking vaguely embarrassed. That was new. Two months after Hux had been crowned, there had been rumours that a former lover of his had been looking into auctioning some private holomaterial of Hux in intimate circumstances. Savika had been the one to handle all of that – she’d had the holovids retrieved and destroyed unwatched, got her hands on all existing copies, and discretely hired a clean-up crew which had included two very good master assassins. She’d done all of that without even blinking.

“What is it?” Hux asked. A faint blush coloured her cheeks.

“Sire, it’s that,” Savika started, then stuttered. “Um. There may have been an investigation at the time, but the events happened on Hosnian Prime. We don’t have a way to access any relevant files.”

“Ah.” Hux wondered if this was what his nanny used to mean when she told him that all actions did eventually have consequences. Of course, his nanny had likely never considered planetary destruction as something her charge may decide to take up later in life. “How like the New Republic not to have a backup copy of their central databases,” he observed, mildly.

“I thought so, too, sire,” Savika said. She looked like she considered the New Republic’s inefficiency in data collection to be a personal insult.

“Well, there isn’t much to be done about that.” _And Ren’s background check came out clean_ , he reminded himself. Kylo Ren had quite obviously created a brand new identity for himself a decade or so ago, but his existence since then was very well-documented, and very public. The oddest thing Hux could remember reading in Ren’s record was how he’d miraculously never been arrested despite his notorious tendency of  violent outbursts in public venues – strange, but not unsurprising for someone with so many connections in high places.

“You know what,” Hux said. “Let’s not waste any more time on this thing.”

 _I’m already spending too much time thinking about Kylo Ren as it is_ , he told himself. Savika nodded, but she looked hesitant.

“Oh, say what you have to say,” Hux growled. “I can take it.”

“I mean this with the uttermost respect,” Savika began. “And I know where all the bodies are buried.”

Hux pinched the bridge of nose with the finger of one hand. “You buried the bodies yourself,” he pointed out, in a surprisingly show of modesty. Usually he would take more of the credit – but, usually, he wasn’t this curious. “Come on, out with it.”

“When you say he was flirting with you…” she trailed off. He raised the hand that wasn’t currently massaging away the incoming headache, palm up.

“I’m going to stop you right here,” Hux said. “Do not.”

“I’m just saying, sire,” she said. Hux had his eyes closed, but he could feel her judging. “That would be a spectacularly bad decision.”

“Thank you for your absolutely unnecessary, gratuitous and unsolicited input,” he said, and went back to his lunch.

++

In the three weeks that followed, Hux took two short trips off-planet, signed half a dozen laws into being, authorized one small-scale military operation and attended three informal dinner functions. He even got to cut a ribbon – an actual _red_ ribbon – at some opening ceremony or the other.

Kylo Ren was a pain in his ass the entire time.

Or rather; not the _entire_ time – the way he switched back and forth between being actually friendly and downright nasty was quick enough to give Hux mood whiplash. Through all of that he kept making the most outlandish demands of the Residence staff – from his fussy beverages to occasional spaceship requisition, from exotic cuisine to sending a technician to his suite in the middle of the night so that all the lights could be changed to the exact hue Ren insisted would help boost his creativity – to the point where Hux had been reliably informed that a conspiracy was in act to avoid getting Ren what he wanted. They would pretend no staff was available, fake comlink malfunctions or be mysteriously swept away in unexpected emergencies just as Ren called with a new request.

Hux himself was all but begged by his people to feign ignorance about the whole think and go along with it. Naturally he agreed, just for the pleasure he felt in seeing Ren’s face redden when he told him that no, he knew nothing about the recent kitchen staff shortage, perhaps there was an epidemic going around?

He figured it was only right, given recent developments.

Hux should have known – he _truly_ should have known – that the gaping lack of awful eyesores in his new wardrobe was too good to last. As it turned out, he’d grossly overestimated Ren’s aesthetic sense, and while Ren may have been content to let Hux have it his way when it came to everyday wear, the ceremonial outfits were a completely different matter.

“I can’t let you go out in public dressed like a savage, Hux,” he said. “My reputation is on the line, I’m sure you understand.”

 _His reputation_ , Hux thought, annoyed. It wasn’t as if Ren was the one whose image was regularly broadcasted to billions and billions of people all across the galaxy.

“My professional reputation,” Ren said, as if he’d known what Hux had been thinking. “Something that is extremely important to me.” He looked serious as he said that or, Hux decided, about as serious as someone wearing a curtain could look.

He gestured at Ren’s attire. “I won’t have to dress like _that_ , won’t I?”

Ren’s brocaded coat looked like it ought to be decorating a marble floor somewhere, garnet red and covered with an intricate dark purple design of what appeared to be extremely abstract flowers. In the centre of every flower was a pearl, white and ostentatious. Ren’s eyes followed his, and he raised a mocking eyebrow.

“Well, if you truly are so insecure in your own masculinity to abhor the idea of a flower pattern as much as you seem to do…” Ren drawled. His lips were painted the same plum shade as those stupid flowers, making his skin look almost white by contrast, and Hux couldn’t stop looking at that mouth.  “Then yes, sire. I’ll endeavour to keep you from any designs that would overwhelm your non-existent sense of style.”

“Ren,” Hux began. “Be honest. Have you ever met anyone, anyone at all, who actually _likes_ you?”

Ren blinked. Then…

“You do like me,” he said, which was utter nonsense and a complete lie. He almost told Ren as much, but then decided to refrain, because it would be childish and he had better things to do with his time than arguing with someone so obviously insane.

“I’m going to show you a few different styles now.” Ren gestured at the dais, as always waiting in the middle of the room, and handed him a pair of dark leggings. “Up there, please. Take your clothes off and put on these. You can keep the shoes on.”

Kylo Ren, it turned out, liked robes. Hux, who did not share his enthusiasm, felt his eyes widen at quite a few of the clothing he was handed, each more bizarre than the last. There was a long coat of a deep aquamarine colour – emerald sea, Ren called it – of a light cloth that seemed made entirely of many folds, and was too tight against his chest to be considered decent; and an even longer one with a high collar tinted in iridescent hues, concentric spots from the neck down that made the fabric look as though it was liquid, rippling and shifting at his every gesture. Then there was a shorter, rigid cape with a sort of abstract geometrical design, in white and red and blue – blood red and peacock blue, according to Ren – that looked like one of those paintings his mother liked to collect.

Still, it looked good on him. They _all_ looked good on him, to Hux’s chagrin – he would have liked nothing more than have a reason to put down Ren’s work, but the lines of his clothes were flattering and the fit was near-perfect, and he could feel Ren’s smugness grow with every passing second.

Hux’s reluctant favourite was a heavy coat in the same style as the one Ren was wearing, but black instead of red, and decorated in flashes of gold, like solar flares.

“ _Starkiller_ ,” Ren said. He was grinning.

Hux had heard of his moniker, of course. He couldn’t say he minded it. “So you want me to just – embrace it?” He raised one hand to have a good look at the cuff, embroidered with a motif of yellow rays. “That could be considered a little gauche. My assistant would call it a public relations nightmare.”

“It’s not like it’s overt,” Ren pointed out. “It’s subtle. And I can tell that you like it.”

“I wasn’t aware you could _do_ subtle,” Hux said, and Ren’s answering smile was very sharp.

“Oh, Your Highness,” he drawled. “I can do plenty of things.”

The way he said it made it sound completely filthy. Hux cleared his throat and averted his gaze, going back to inspecting his sleeves. “These are a little too rigid,” he said. “Heavy. Makes it hard to raise my arms.”

“Do you ever _need_ to raise your arms? I assumed you just stood around at parade rest the entire time,” Ren said, but he looked somewhat pleased that Hux was actually offering an opinion. “I’ll see what I can do.”

For once, they were finished with plenty of time to spare. Hux didn’t have anywhere to be, for the next hour at least, and he found himself standing awkwardly in the middle the room, looking at Ren as he put every piece of clothing into their own covers, grey with a flowery red logo on the front, and hanged them one by one. He stayed because he had nothing better to do, he told himself. He barely even noticed Ren’s fluid movements, or the broadness of his shoulders – that had nothing to do with him at all.

“Since you’re still here,” Ren said. “Would you like to have lunch?”

That caught him by surprise. He shouldn’t, Hux told himself. He really, really shouldn’t – Ren was loud, rude and irreverent, and not worth the inconvenience developing a fancy with him should bring. He should find something better to do with his time, and take his leave.

Instead, Hux found himself shrugging. “Why not?” he said. “As long as you weren’t planning on leaving the Residence. I have an appointment in the afternoon.”

“That’s not a problem.” Ren finished putting away the last of the robes – ultramarine blue and brocaded gold, with an infinity of small gilded buttons that went from mid-thigh to just above the hollow of his throat and had been _hell_ to fasten – and turned to look at him. “I’m staying here. As you may know, I was graciously assigned nine suites of apartments.”

“I remember that,” Hux said drily. “And a _ballroom_. What are you planning on doing with a ballroom, a runway show?”

“They gave me the second smallest ballroom,” Ren pointed out, just as wryly. He actually sounded offended at the slight. “I was thinking of throwing a party, if you really want to know. I’d invite you.”

Hux blinked – a natural reaction, everyone would need a split second to recover from this new oddity – and Ren took the chance to walk to the door, holding it open in a mocking show of deference.

“Shall we?”

The wing that had been assigned to Ren was far from being the best of the Imperial Residence, but it was the newest, remodeled by the former owners just before the fall of the Empire. After the lord and the lady of the house had been exiled in those tumultuous first months of the New Republic, the palace had been turned into an embassy, but naturally it had to be abandoned after the Senate seat was moved to Hosnian Prime. When Hux had taken Coruscant, a decade and a half later, he’d much appreciated having his pick of places to choose from.

Ren led him to what he’d clearly taken as his personal suite, if the overabundance of flashy décor was any indication. “Do you like it?” he asked, gesturing to the large canvas and rich curtains and the _sculptures_ Hux was quite sure had also been flown in from Kuat on his own dime. Every room was made in a different color than he could see – the sitting room had been a light violet, and the small library a rusty red. The dining room was all gold.

“It’s a bit flashy,” Hux said.

Ren looked him up and down. “I assume,” he began, dramatically. “That, after a life spent on Star Destroyers, one is bound to lose all aesthetic sense for anything that is not grey.”

Ren had a droid come in a set the table, which Hux had not been expecting. From what he’d come to learn of the man in front of him, he’d imagined Ren would be the type to have a retinue of attractive young people in matching uniforms whose only job was to hand him the right glass for whatever vintage he fancied at the moment.

“Please,” Ren said. “As if. I detest people handling my things.”

The food was brought in; a thick, creamy mushroom soup and some kind of well-cooked, spicy meat. There were two sets of eating utensils and three different glasses, one for each beverage including a sweet red wine that had Hux refill his glass several times.

They mostly ate in silence, which Hux appreciated. The situation was entirely too strange as it was, and he didn’t think he could take another discussion with Ren at the moment. When they were finished, the serving droid came back with a mousse berry cake, which looked and smelled almost as delicious as it turned out to be.

“Do you like it?” Ren asked, gesturing at Hux’s plate. “I’ve had to hire a chef. I hate to say it, but your people couldn’t satisfy all my dietary needs.”

Hux stared at him, eyes narrowing, wishing he could see into Ren’s head and finally figure out, once and for all, if the man was truly as prissy and spoiled as he looked or if he were just doing for the hell of it.

“That must have been tragic.”

Ren laughed low in his throat. He had a very deep laugh, and very pleasant, even more so when he wasn’t being entirely an asshole.

“You have such an esteemed opinion of me,” Ren said, again with perfect timing. Which was – unsettling, to say the least. Hux usually prided himself on being hard to read, but this must have been the fourth or fifth time in the past few days he’d had Ren spelling out his own thoughts. He resolved to ignore it, and resolutely set himself to finish his dessert, acutely aware of Ren’s eyes on him the entire time. The man had finished with his own portion, and he was sitting with his back straight and hands crossed over his chest, staring intently at Hux’s face.

He could see it every time he happened to look up, Ren’s intense dark gazed fixed on him – his lips, Hux realized at one point. He pursed his mouth around his spoon, just to see what would happen, and saw Ren’s tongue slide out to lick at his own lips, wet and red.

He felt dizzy all of a sudden, and very warm

 _The wine_ , Hux decided. That had been strong wine.

He hastily finished and dropped his spoon into the bowl with a resounding _clank_ that would have greatly embarrassed him otherwise, but the sound didn’t seem to shock Ren from his reverie. They remained still, Hux’s eyes locked on Ren, almost squirming under that hot stare, a flush creeping through his face.

He cleared his throat.

“Stop doing that,” he told Ren. “You’re being indecent.”

But Ren – damn him – only smiled. “Oh?” he asked. “And what is that I am doing?”

“Stop staring,” Hux enunciated slowly. “At me. Like that.” He grasped the handrests of his armchair and stood up to leave. Now he just had to walk, he told himself. It was only a few steps to the door –

“Like what?” Ren asked – he all but _singsonged_ , that awful, awful man. Hux found his own feet were bring him around the table, walking over to Ren’s chair. _The wine_ , he repeated to himself. That must be it. Surely he wouldn’t approach Ren otherwise, wouldn’t put himself within reach of such a terrible, obnoxious –

“Like you’re picturing me naked,” he heard his own voice say, and Ren kept looking at him _just like that_ , even as his smile turned wider and wider and he pushed his hair off his face with the kind of practiced offhandedness Hux knew well by seeing it every morning in the mirror.

“I have no idea what you’re–”

Hux kissed him.

The instant their lips touched he heard Ren groan, felt the soft burst of air over his lips and that mouth – that wet, warm, beautiful mouth – opened pliantly under his own, sucking at his lips, tongue darting out to slide along the row of his teeth, demanding entrance. He pulled back to plant a close-mouthed kiss over Ren’s mouth, at the corner of his lips, over his chin and jaw.

“You have no idea, do you?” he said, words whispered against Ren’s skin, trying for teasing but only managing breathless instead.

He felt a pair of strong arms enclose him, two hands pressing down on his shoulders until he gave in and found himself straddling Ren’s lap, breath coming in pants. “None whatsoever,” Ren agreed, and the soft sound of his voice made something coil down in his belly. Hux bit at his lower lip and pulled it into his mouth, feeling Ren shudder under him.

“Oh,” Ren breathed out as Hux kissed a trail down the underside of his jaw, found a point just over the pulse in his neck that made him jolt. “ _Oh_ ,” Ren said, and one large hand was in his hair, bringing his head back up so that Ren could – open his mouth and swallow Hux’s every sound, it seemed like; the interior of Ren’s mouth tasted sugary and sour just like that cake they’d just had, and the pressure of his teeth was divine when he sucked at Hux’s tongue, drawing him in.

Ren kept his hand in Hux’s hair as he kissed and licked at his mouth, held him steady as he traced a path down Hux’s neck, all over his throat, down to his collarbone – and Hux knew he should be telling Ren to stop before he left a mark, but he was too gone to care, his own hands busy trailing all over the well-defined planes and lines of Ren’s taut stomach, his chest, his back. He threw his head back and moaned as Ren bit and sucked into his skin, breath hitching when that mouth found a spot at the base of his neck that made him buck wildly in Ren’s lap, whimpering in pleasure.

“Yes,” Ren was saying. “Yes, just like that–” and his free hand moved from where it was tracing aimless patterns over Hux’s shoulder, sliding down along his back until it was right above the swell of his ass, pressing down as if to urge him to rub against Ren’s pelvis. Who was Hux to say not to that, he thought, and he ground down against Ren’s thigh, cock twitching at the delightful friction, feeling the outline of Ren’s length jutting against his hip.

“Isn’t this a little – undignified?” he asked, trying to catch his breath. Certainly this was something  only schoolboys would do, not grown men – and distinguished members of society at that – but Ren’s lips were searing hot nibbling on that spot right under his hear and Hux felt him grin against his skin. He shivered.

“You’re the one who’s on a schedule,” Ren said, letting go of Hux and learning back in his chair, bringing his hands to his side and taking off the heavy, over-decorated red coat. “It’d get dirty,” he started to explain, but Hux couldn’t have cared any less, transfixed by the sight in front of him – Kylo Ren, it turned out, looked very, very nice under his stiffy robes, and Hux felt his throat go dry as he took in that well-muscled chest and bulging arms, the silver bars shining through each of nipples.

“Well,” he started to say, and Ren laughed, bringing his hands up to unbutton Hux’s shirt.

“Do I get the Imperial seal of approval?” Ren asked, dark eyes gleaming, and Hux felt himself redden even as he made a show of looking him up and down and thoroughly licking his lips just to hear Ren moan at the sight.

“Yeah,” he said. “I suppose.” And suddenly he felt one of Ren’s hand slide under his ass as the man stood up to shove his trousers down to his knees and sat back down – it was too quick for Hux to really appreciate it, but he did take notice of the impressive display of strength. “Or you could have asked me to get off your lap,” Hux pointed out, but Ren just chuckled and kissed him once again, on the lips, on his neck, on that damned spot just under his collar that must certainly have turned purple by now.

“You’re a showoff, Ren,” he said, making quick work of his own slacks and easing his cock out. Ren’s eyes followed him as he started stroking himself slowly, once, twice, hissing at the sensation.

“I get that a lot,” Ren said, and then, “let me,” and he spat on his own hand and brought it down around Hux’s cock as he leaned down for a kiss. Their lips met as their hands did, wrapped around the length of him, and he shrugged, whimpering. Ren’s touch was warm and solid; he soon figured the trick of thumbing at the head as he rotated his wrist just so to drive him absolutely mad, drawing little moans he would never admit to making once his mind was clearer.

Hux bit down sharply on Ren’s lip and trailed his free hand down his chest, brushing his fingers over rock-hard muscle before reaching down to grasp firmly around Ren’s cock, red and swollen, head dripping wet. He trailed his thumb along the underside of it, experimentally, then increased the pressure as he pumped him through the circle of his fingers, pressing a pad over the slit to hear Ren’s breath catch and feel his hips jerk. An interesting reaction, Hux decided. He did it again, more sharply this time.

“That’s – _ah_ – that’s dirty,” Ren pointed out, though he didn’t sound like he particularly minded. Hux was at eye-level with the man’s neck; he bent his head forward to plant an open mouthed kiss over a tense tendon, watched the skin glisten as he pulled away, a wet mark in the shape of his lips. He dove back in, sucking further down, tongue flickering lightly over one dusky nipple as he kept working at Ren’s cock, pulling slightly and thumbing viciously at the sensitive spot he’d found just over the head. His other hand was still trapped under Ren’s larger one, clasped around his own length, and it was too much – he let his eyes close until he was plunged into darkness, and the only things that mattered were Kylo Ren’s throaty moans and the sound of his own ragged breath.

Hux finished first, spilling all over their joined hands in a long, bodily shiver. It wasn’t long after that he felt Ren’s breath turn more erratic, limbs trembling and hips jerking, and he kissed a trail up Ren’s chest and throat until he had his mouth just under the man’s ear, lips tugging at his earlobe. “Ren,” he whispered. “I’ve been wanting to do this for _weeks_ ,” and he flickered his wrist one last time and suddenly Ren was coming, too.

When they were done, Hux allowed himself a few seconds to catch his breath – but Ren apparently didn’t need any time to revert back to his usual, pesky self.

“That was obvious,” Ren said, smug as always. “You weren’t exactly _subtle_ about it.”

Hux leaned back so he could look him in the eyes, feeling vaguely disappointed. He’d been – _comfortable_ , with his head resting in the crook of Ren’s neck. “Oh, please,” he said, putting the barest minimum of effort into something resembling a glare. “Like it was only me. You told me to _bend over_ , Ren.”

“Don’t feel special. I tell the same to all my clients.”

He almost frowned at that – what _exactly_ had Ren meant? – but he was distracted when he felt Ren shift and something soft and dry against his hand, and he looked down to see that he’d been handed him a handkerchief. He should’ve expected that, Hux admitted to himself. The kerchief was dark red with a silver pattern printed on it, and looked altogether too expensive to end up soaked in come, but he wasn’t surprised by that, either.

He caught Ren smiling, which left him frustrated. Again. Was he really this easy to read? Hux took in a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He really, really wanted to bring one hand up to fix his hair – but that’d probably be extremely unhygienic, handkerchief or not. And he wasn’t looking forward to having to get off Ren, either; the man was surprisingly comfortable of a seat.

Ren snorted, disdainful as always, and that was all the incentive Hux needed. He got up and tucked himself back in, fastened his trousers and his shirt, and walked around the table to recover his still half-full glass of water, resolving to leave that wine be for the time being. He noticed with some amusement that Ren’s heavy coat had somehow ended up there, laying perfectly folded on an immaculate spot of tablecloth, and he wondered how Ren had even had the time to fold his clothes while they’d been – they’d _just_ been –

His gaze landed back on Ren – still sprawled obscenely on his own chair, hair mussed and face reddened , legs spread and his spent cock jutting out, looking larger than any man ought to be when soft. That bare chest was just as impressive when seen from a relative distance, and a multitude of red bruises had flourished all over his throat and chest. _I did that_ , Hux thought, and he swallowed.

Ren’s eyes were fixed on him, just as intense as always, that perpetual half-smile tugging at his lips. He watched him scurry in and out the dining room, washing his hands and retrieving his jacket and trying to do something about his hair. After he was done he looked at Ren and cleared his throat, trying to decide what to say, but the man beat him to it.

“I’ll see you in five days,” Ren said – no longer quite as sweaty or flushed but still every bit as pornographic. “ _Your Highness_ ,” he drawled. His smile was very wide, and very, very dirty. “It’s been an absolute pleasure.”

“Likewise,” was all Hux managed to say; and then he all but fled.

**Author's Note:**

> ++ I can't believe I wrote a lemon? Aw. Also, bless whoever came up with the idea of Kylo Ren + nipple piercings first, because this is My Aesthetic now.
> 
> ++ Kylo totally had sex with at least four of the models who look like Hux. Separately, though. He can't have rumours of his sudden weakness for red-headed twinks going around.
> 
> ++ I'm [kyhlos](http://www.kyhlos.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come talk to me about prissy designers and space fashion :)


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